


On the Run

by PitViperOfDoom



Series: Find Your Name and Buried Treasure [2]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cora Lives, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Parent-Child Relationship, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitViperOfDoom/pseuds/PitViperOfDoom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sequel to Little White Lies)</p><p>Minion Island is behind them, and they've evaded Marines and Donquixote pirates alike, but Law and Cora aren't out of the woods yet. Caught in the heart of Doflamingo's domain, their only hope for any kind of safety is to leave North Blue. </p><p>It's far easier said than done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Law wakes up facedown in a pillow that smells like mothballs and spit. It's his own spit, but he still peels his face up with a noise of disgust. Wriggling a little, he finds a dryer spot and flops down again with a grunt.

“It's _alive_ ,” Cora calls over with a touch of melodrama. “Good morning, Law!”

He's too cheerful. Law isn't sure what time it was, but it's definitely too early to be that cheerful. Instead of answering, Law groans into the pillow.

“Went shopping,” Cora says. His voice sounds a little hoarse, but he's cheerful enough. “I splurged just a little, but we need supplies, and the treasure chest I took should last us a while. If you're getting up, there's fresh clothes for you.”

Law doesn't open his eyes, but he turns his head so that the pillow won't muffle his voice. “How long was I 'sleep?” he asks groggily.

“Almost sixteen hours,” Cora replies. “How do you feel?”

Thinking back, Law vaguely remembers dozing off in the inn's bath after scrubbing himself raw, then staggering to bed and falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. If he dreamed, then whatever he dreamed about hasn't left much of an impression. The room at the inn smells musty and mildewy, and the blankets are rough and dusty wool, but more than anything Law feels clean.

He says as much to Cora, who laughs and throws a fresh shirt at him. Grumbling, Law sits up, stretches, and yawns until his jaw cracks. His eyes fall upon his bare arms, and he has to pause a moment to marvel all over again.

His skin is not left completely unmarked. It's discolored in some places and rough in others, but the poison-pale color is gone. The marks left are not harmful, or indicative of leftover sickness. They're simply a reminder of something that used to be there, but can't hurt him anymore.

 _Like Lami's scars after she had chicken pox._ The thought comes to him unbidden, and with it come memories in a wave.

_Lami frowning in the mirror, counting the pock marks on her skin. Lami poking and scratching until Mother stilled her hands and told her that scars and ugliness were not the same thing. Lami's eyebrows knitted together, so thoughtful that it was almost comical on her little face, as she tried to puzzle out whether her belief that pox scars were gross was stronger than her belief that Mother was very smart and always right about everything._

_“They're like dents in my face, aren't they, big brother?”_

_“You look fine. I can't tell the difference between them and your dimples.”_

_“Are you sure?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Are you lying to make me feel better?”_

_She stopped worrying about pox scars when the amber lead poisoning turned her skin white._

The memories rise, threatening to overflow, and Law presses down on the images behind his eyes until they're back where they belong, quiet and out of sight. On the outside it looks like a hard blink and a shake of his head. If Cora notices, he doesn't say anything.

Recovering himself, Law rubs sleep out of his eyes and reaches eagerly for the new clothes Cora laid out for him. He'd put on his cleanest ones before going to bed, but even his cleanest clothes are worn thin and smell of seawater and blood. “Thanks,” he manages, slightly muffled as he changes his shirt. He winces. His ribs are still bruised from the beating he took, and the swelling on his forehead has gone down but it's still tender. He glances down and grimaces – it's like he's traded white splotches for blue and purple.

“Anything broken?” Cora hovers close by, worried. He's not looking much better, even with the blood cleaned from his face. The cut on his eyebrow will probably scar, and he won't be growing that tooth back anytime soon.

Law considers fibbing, and decides against it. “Some. But I fixed it, while I was fixing the, um. Other stuff.”

“With your-” A cough cuts Cora off. “'Scuse me. With your Devil Fruit?”

“It's... weird,” he says, pulling his fresh shirt over his head and hiding the bruises once more. “Just something I did with my power. I can't speed up healing – at least, I think I can't? I can't make the bone grow any faster. But everything's where it's supposed to be, and when it heals it's gonna heal _right_ , so I can do that much.” He doesn't go into detail. He's not sure how much Cora saw when he was wielding his power against his illness. But if Cora doesn't know how much he had to put back, how close the bone came to poking holes in his lung, and just how much Vergo broke with each punch and kick, well... it's fixed. There's no reason to spook Cora over a problem that's already been solved.

There's a _reason_ he's spent the better part of a day unconscious.

Cora reaches over and ruffles his hair gently. “It might take time, but you'll figure out your powers,” he assures Law. “The more you use it, the more you'll learn you can do with it.”

“I know,” Law murmurs, thinking of his half-developed scanning and the delirious split seconds in which he felt – he _knew_ – where things were and how they were, and how easily he could simply change the where and the how. He thinks of a boulder that became Cora while Cora became a boulder, and the boulder hit the water and sank while Cora landed safe on shore within Law's reach. “It's a lot, I think. There's a lot I can do. Just not yet.”

“Take your time,” Cora says. He sits in silence for a moment, and then he laughs, rich and bright until Law's smiling without meaning to. “ _Time_ , Law,” he says, grinning back with his battered face and the gap in his teeth. “You have time now.”

Law surprises himself by hugging Cora.

When all is said and done, after Law is dressed and Cora has recovered from his bewildered euphoria, Law finds his way to breakfast, or lunch, or whatever you're supposed to call a meal you eat after sleeping for sixteen hours. “So what to we do now?” he asks.

“We need a better boat,” Cora says. “The old one's on its last legs, and it'd be good to have something a bit sturdier, now that we're both Devil Fruit users. This is no Water 7, but I'm sure we'll find something.”

Law swallows his mouthful. “What's Water 7?” he asks, and Cora grins again and paints for him a vivid picture of a city of shipwrights, with canals and boats instead of roads or streets.

There's a newspaper on the table, which they split. Cora lets Law have the front page to skim while he eats, and pores over the other articles for any useful information. There's nothing about the incident on Minion Island, at least not on the front page. The most interesting headline that Law sees is about reports of Red-Haired Shanks' ship showing up somewhere in East Blue. But there's nothing about Doflamingo or where he is or what he might be doing, and a quick glance over Cora's part of the paper doesn't offer any more clues.

“Are we safe?” Law asks abruptly, once he's finished.

“How do you mean?”

“From Doflamingo.”

Cora sighs. “That... is a good question.” He rubs his forehead and puts the newspaper down. “It's probably better to assume we aren't. He has a strong presence in North Blue, and our best defense right now is that he might think we're dead. We'll have to keep looking over our shoulders. But, our chances are better provided we keep our distance from Spider Miles.”

“We'll have to leave, won't we.” It's not a question. Not even flying under the radar can protect them forever, after all. The criminal underworld of North Blue is Doflamingo's domain, and there will always be a chance that one of his contacts will recognize them if they stay.

“That was always the plan,” Cora says. “When I said we should sail the world together, I meant it. But we'll need a boat first. And it wouldn't hurt to have a couple of transponder snails-” He pauses and coughs again into his sleeve.

Law frowns at him. “You all right?”

“I'll be fine,” Cora assures him.

He'd been too groggy and exhausted on the boat to take notice of anything like this. “How long've you been coughing?” he presses.

“Law, there's no need to-”

He stops talking when Law latches on to his wrist and looks him dead in the eye. “Cora,” he says. “How long have you been coughing?”

There's a moment of silence, some bewildered blinking, and Cora's eyes soften. “It's been on and off since Minion Island,” he replies. “I may be coming down with something. Just – getting shot and dragging myself through the snow and across the sea didn't do me any favors.” He must see the look on Law's face, because he smiles again. “I'll be careful,” he assures him. “And whatever it is, I'll live. After the past few weeks, I'd call it a step up, wouldn't you?”

Law frowns, but he resolves to keep a close eye on Cora until he stops coughing and looking so pale. “If you say so,” he says, and lets go of Cora's wrist.

“I do say so.” Cora quirks a smile at him. “What do you say we have a look around the harbor?”

Law nods and gets up. His hat is on the bedside table, battered and dirty, but he dusts it off and puts it back on. “What's it like out there?” he asks.

“Rough place,” Cora says, shrugging into a coat. It's loose enough to hide the awkward way he carries himself – Devil Fruit or no, injuries take time to heal. “We'll have to keep a low profile.”

“Obviously,” Law mutters, and follows him out.

Like Cora says, it's a rough-looking town. The inn looks like it's seen better days, as does the innkeeper. The grizzled man catches Law staring, and Law quickly averts his eyes and keeps moving.

Upon leaving, he's hit with the smell of stale booze and old cigarette smoke. The town is gray and brown, battered-looking buildings and battered-looking people. Men loiter on street corners, smoking or chatting or just standing around looking shifty. Law keeps close to Cora.

A few blocks down, the streets open up to something like a marketplace. There are shops and stalls, and a thicker crowd of people. At the sudden noise and activity, Law stops short on instinct. Crowds have been bad news to him for years now. Most people can hide in crowds and disappear in a sea of people, but not Law. For Law, more people means more eyes on his patchy white skin, more voices carrying the message – “ _White monster, plague carrier, someone grab him, kill him before he spreads his sickness-_ ”

But there's no shouting now. He's purged the poison from his body. The sickness is gone. He's free of it. There's no reason for anyone call him a monster, ever again.

And yet-

Looking out at that crowd, just the thought of taking a step further makes Law's stomach turn. The streets behind him are shady and run-down, and he could get snatched right off the corner and no one would care or be the wiser, but at least it's quieter and emptier.

“Law?”

Cora's voice is soft, but it still reaches him in spite of the bustle around them. Blinking, Law raises his head and focuses on Cora's face and Cora's eyes. He's holding out his hand, patiently waiting.

Only after clenching his teeth and swallowing against the sour taste of dread does Law force himself to step forward. After a moment's hesitation he takes the offered hand and lets Cora draw him closer. “It's all right,” Cora assures him. “I'm right here with you, remember?”

Law doesn't quite trust himself to speak, so he simply nods and follows Cora through the crowd.

It takes a few minutes, but his instinctual fear finally recedes enough for him to feel comfortable with looking around. He can smell food, but his stomach is full enough to keep it from tempting him.

There are other stalls – in one, an elderly man sells hats and jackets and scarves, while in another, a scar-faced woman trades beri for knives. The crowd thins as they approach the docks and pass stalls that sell lower-quality food or secondhand junk for pocket change. Law doesn't let go of Cora's hand, but he does slow his pace when he spies a shelf of books at one.

Cora takes notice. They're right at the edge of the wharf, and he pauses when he sees Law's attention diverted. “Want to have a look at them?” he asks.

“Er.” Law fidgets a little, embarrassed. It's not like a place like this will have high-quality literature anyway, but still – _books_.

“Go on.” Cora smiles. “Don't wander off – I'll have a look at those bulletins, see if they don't have anything useful to say. Won't be long.”

Law needs little urging. The promise of reading material presses down his nervousness, especially with fewer people on this end, so he lets go of Cora's hand and makes a beeline for the shelves.

No medical texts, but there's a book on sights in East Blue that interests him well enough. Law flips through idly, wondering at the wealth of Goa Kingdom, the history of Loguetown, the Island of Rare Animals, and the orange plantations of the Conomi Islands. It would be nice to see it. In spite of its history as Gold Roger's birthplace, it's supposed to be the sea where the least dangerous pirates come from, so it should at least be safer than here.

“Hey, kid.”

Law jumps, visibly. He knows it's visible because it's enough to jar his injured ribs, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from voicing his pain. It's bad enough to spook so easily in front of a stranger; he doesn't need to show weakness on top of that. “What,” he says finally.

The man towers over him, and Law can tell he's doing it on purpose. He's just some ragged street thug by the looks of it, but Law's in no condition to fight anyone right now. “What's a little boy like you doing all alone in this town?”

The book in his hands is a poor shield, but clutching it to his chest and keeping it between himself and the man makes Law feel marginally less like he's about to get murdered. “I'm not alone,” he says. “I'm with-” He glances over in the direction Cora had taken, and his heart plummets in free fall when he's nowhere to be found. “-my parents,” he finishes. It's a terrible lie, even worse than any of Cora's attempts. It was doomed the moment he hesitated, and the smirk on the man's face only rubs the failure in his face.

“Really now. Your parents.” The man bends down until they're almost eye to eye, hands on his knees like he's talking to a small child. It makes Law _feel_ small, and he steps back and tries not to fidget under the scrutiny. “Where are they now?”

“What's it to you?” Law shoots another quick look around, searching for any sign of Cora, but he can't spot him among the people milling around by the docks. Damn it all to hell, where has he gone?

“What's the matter, I can't get worried when I see a little scrap like you wandering around all lost and alone?” The man's smile is somehow even creepier than Cora's. “What is it, you've got nowhere to go?”

“I _told_ you-”

“You're with your parents,” the man says. “Right, right. And where are they now?”

“Getting food,” Law says, and he decides then and there that he will never tease Cora for being a bad liar again. He's never had to lie like this before, swallowing down panic and thinking of excuses on the fly with someone's attention fixated on him. No one has ever interrogated him like this. No one has ever had the chance. People can't ask you questions if they can't see you at the bottom of a pile of corpses, and they _don't_ ask you questions if you're trotting at the heels of North Blue's most infamous pirate.

“What happened to your face, then?” the man asks. “You look like you've taken a beating. Makes you tough. That's useful around these parts.”

“None of your business-” Law begins, and a hand descends upon his shoulder. He starts again, almost wincing at the pain in his ribs, but before his alarm can turn to panic, Cora's voice chases the fear away.

“There you are. Come along now – oh, did you want to buy that book?”

The man blinks, and slowly raises his eyes. He towers over Law, but Cora towers over _him_ , and Law can't see the look on Cora's face but he can see the man's reaction to it. His stomach has twisted itself into knots, but seeing the man back away loosens them.

Law tosses the book back on the shelf. “Let's go, let's just go,” he mutters, and lets Cora steer him away again.

“Next time just come straight to me,” Cora whispers to him. “It's not a good idea to make a scene in front of the locals.”

“You were _gone_!” Law hisses back. “I would have, but I couldn't see you anywhere.”

“Law, I was right over there.” Cora points to a wooden board posted on the dock, covered in flyers and reports and docking schedules. Other people are gathered around it, checking for information. It's barely thirty feet away from the stall where Law was looking at books. “You were within my sight the whole time.”

Law stares at him incredulously. “Bullshit,” he blurts out. “I looked around, and I couldn't even see you. _Anywhere_.” His voice cracks as he says it.

Their pace has slowed by now. Cora checks over both shoulders, and sighs. “Damn. I'm sorry about that, Law. I didn't even realize I was doing it-”

“Doing what?”

“Slipping into old habits.” Cora checks around them again and finally slows, then halts under the pretense of inspecting another bulletin board. “You pick up a few things, living like I do.”

Law lets go of his hand, but he keeps his eyes on Cora just in case he pulls another vanishing act. “What do you mean?”

Cora doesn't answer immediately. He keeps his eyes on the board, and Law sees his jaw clench, just a little. It means, probably, that he's going to lie. Or that he's going to tell only part of the truth. Impatience makes Law want to fidget, but he presses it down.

“I've been hiding for a long time,” Cora says finally. His voice is so quiet that Law has to turn his head to hear him clearly. “Since I was small.” In spite of himself, Law snorts quietly. “Yes, I know, I'm very tall, thank you for noticing. But the point is, when you hide for so long – I mean, when you _live_ in hiding, it's not enough just to duck around corners and stick to the shadows.”

 _Or hide under bodies,_ Law thinks, and squashes the thought with as much mental force as he can.

“There's a trick to it,” Cora goes on. “A lot of tricks to it. Hiding in plain sight. Blending in with a crowd. Talking to a stranger, so that they to tell you what you need to know, and then forget about you as soon as they turn away. It's all in how you carry yourself, how you move, how you speak. I didn't even realize I was doing it just now. I'm sorry, Law, I didn't mean to give you a scare.” He hesitates. “Old habits die hard. It came in handy with, well... you know.”

“So it's sort of like spying,” Law says.

“It's exactly like spying.” Finally Cora glances at him. He looks thoughtful. “I can teach you, if you like.”

The handful of words sends excitement racing through Law, and realization hits him like a mule kick to the chest. Up to now, he's been wandering in a dazed, disbelieving dream, knowing in his head that words like “free” and “alive” apply to him now, but not truly grasping what they mean. He's been existing, the same as he always has been, ever since the day his birthplace became a death sentence. But now, Cora's simple offer brings it all rushing in, knowledge and belief and _comprehension_ -

He's alive. He's alive with _Cora_. They're free. They're together. Whatever else happens, he doesn't have to die and he doesn't have to be alone and he doesn't have to be anything or do anything except exactly what he wants and what he can.

Trying to put the feeling into words would be like trying to fit the ocean in a bucket, and so he doesn't try. Out loud all he says is, “Okay,” but his eyes are bright with joy instead of fever, and there's a smile on his face that matches the feeling in his heart.

“Right. First lesson, focus on the task at hand. Now let's see about that boat.”

* * *

The next island they arrive at is unnamed, and small enough to have only one town, if it can even be called a town. Its only inhabitants are the proprietors of the island's single tavern and scattered shops. It's a quiet, out-of-the-way stop for North Blue sailors, largely ignored by the Navy, the government, or anyone else wielding official authority. As such, it receives quite steady traffic from anyone hoping to avoid official authority. The island may be small, but its harbor is never empty.

Among the ships, the barks and caravels and brigantines, Law and Cora dock their small cutter. Cora looks miserable, and Law feels miserable just looking at him – he's pale and wan, and the bags under his eyes are at least as dark as Law's ever were. But in spite of Law's fears and Cora's still-healing injuries, a fever is far from a worst case scenario – Law can handle it perfectly well.

Restocking the medicine chest doesn't hurt, of course.

“Sure you don't want me to come with you?” Cora asks, for at least the fortieth time. It's almost ridiculous to hear him say that, bundled up in a blanket to keep from shivering.

“I can do it,” Law says. “Just stay low and stay quiet. I'll be in and out.” He pauses, then adds, “I hope.”

Cora makes a strangled noise.

“Okay, forget the I hope. I'll be in and out.” Law checks his wallet (tucked under his shirt), his decoy wallet (in his pants pocket), his baby Den Den Mushi (safe in his jacket's inside pocket), and the loose bag on his shoulder, and pulls his coat tighter around himself. He can feel the press of a knife hidden at the small of his back. It's just for emergencies, but it makes him feel a bit better about venturing onto the island alone.

“I'll try and work out our course until you get back,” Cora says. “Keep your ears open for any news. And if you see any recent newspapers, grab them.”

“Got it.” With that, Law slips out to the deck to have a look at the wharf. It's a little after noon, and the sky overhead is gray and cloudy, with a chilly wind picking up. Sailors and dockworkers make their way around the wharf, carrying loads or tending to ships or just shaking off their sea legs. None of them seem to be paying any mind to anything or anyone besides themselves. Nervousness kicks up a crawling feeling in Law's stomach, but he burries it down and disembarks. Water laps at the dock beneath his feet, and he's more aware of it now than he ever was before. He suppresses a shudder, swallows his anxieties, and slips in among the other sailors.

It's not hard to find the island's single apothecary. Though, calling it an apothecary is charitable; the place is more of run-down shack full of shelves and bins piled with various unsorted medicinal supplies. Law frowns at the labels, unscrews caps to check the contents, and carefully tallies up the price in his head. He keeps his ears open, but doesn't look over his shoulder too often.

Disorganization aside, there's plenty of what he needs – pain relievers, fever reducers, even immune system supplements. Good fortune strikes when he opens a bottle labeled and priced for cheap antihistamines and finds prescription-grade antibiotics inside. He tries not to smile when he caps it again and goes to pay for everything.

His nervousness wells up again as he approaches the woman standing behind the counter. She's heavyset, musclebound, and heavily scarred, but she looks bored – bored is good. Bored people daydream and don't pay attention.

_If you have to get something done that involves talking to someone, then just do it. Get it done and over with. Don't dawdle, don't socialize, but don't look like you're in a hurry. I know, it's confusing, but it's important to balance between the two._

Law lays out his purchase and puts his money on the counter, and waits patiently while the woman takes his beri and counts out his change. He feels like every eye in the room is on him, and he wants to fidget, but he forces himself still. He matches the bored look on the woman's face.

“Little young to be wanderin' round this town by yourself, aren'tcha?” she remarks, glancing at him.

“Cap'n's orders,” he says simply.

“Cabin boy, then.” She snorts. “Must be some kinda fool cap'n, having little boys out fetching medicine.”

“Not if I'm the only one who can read,” Law says.

The woman snorts again and hands him his change. Law sweeps his things into his bag and leaves.

_Don't be too memorable, be funny but not too smart. If they like you but forget about you the second you're gone, you've done it right. Do your bit, and then go back to being part of the scenery._

He hadn't seen any newspapers in the store, so he takes note of a tavern on his way back to the boat. No one stops him, or even seems to take notice of him, as he slips aboard and goes down to touch bases with Cora.

He finds Cora coughing over charts of North Blue, and grabs a clean spoon to dose him with more cough suppressant. “How's it look?”

“Not good,” Cora rasps, tracing his finger over the chart. “'S a tightrope walk through this sea, just avoiding Doffy's territories. If he doesn't control it, then he's got the place crawling with contacts.” His finger moves, tracing a route and tapping on another island. “Best chance for us is this island here, Sampetra. Pirate controlled, but not by Doffy or one of his men. Not too much Marine presence, and since we're not flying a pirate flag nobody'll expect us to pay tribute. They'll overlook us there.”

Law nods. “I didn't find any papers, but I saw a tavern. I bet I can pick up something useful.”

Cora meets his eyes. “Be careful, Law.”

“I _know_.” Law leaves his real wallet on the boat but keeps the decoy with a few hundred beri in it, just so he'll have something to give up if someone tries to mug him.

Going out a second time is a risk, but they're short on information so it's one he's willing to take. Law navigates the busy sailors on the docks again, careful not to get underfoot, and makes his way back into the town proper. He creeps closer to the tavern, but shouting, crashing, and gunfire from inside make him shy away. There's a tavern brawl going on – if he goes in, he'll be caught in the crossfire, and anyone inside will be too busy fighting or ducking to say anything useful.

Unperturbed, he tries his luck at the town's run-down general store, just down the road. It's quieter inside, though it smells of mildew, overripe fruit, and milk that's gone off. He keeps his eyes and ears open and wanders under the pretense of browsing. Other shoppers converse in low tones, and Law keeps his distance.

“-and check the price on these sewing supplies, the sails could use some-”

“-you think they'll buy my hat? We can afford to sell some-”

“-guts are aching, must've been something bad in that ale-”

“-and I heard the _Goreleech_ has been spotted in the Blues again, Daskar's a persistent old bugger.”

“That's nothing, there's a new bounty on Doflamingo, look, here it is.”

Law wanders closer. The lattermost speaker is a tall, rail-thin woman, all points and angles as she bends over a newspaper. Two other pirates stand near her, and Law isn't sure whether or not they're all from the same crew.

“Bastard's at ninety mil and he hasn't even dipped his toe in the Grand Line yet.” the speaker, a frowsy woman with a stocky build, grinds her teeth.

“Smart, if you ask me,” the third, a heavyset bearded man, replies. “That Pirate Graveyard crap's for idiots and powerhouses.”

By now, Law is close enough to peek at the paper. It's dated for today. Maybe, if he's lucky, they'll toss it out once they're done.

“Speaking of idiots,” the woman with the paper says. “Looks like that jumped-up moron in Sampetra finally ate it.” Law glances up at that, and curses himself when the woman notices him. “That catch your interest, kid? What do you know about Sampetra?”

Law forces down his alarm and blinks owlishly at her, playing the part of the wide-eyed, dutiful cabin boy once more. “Cap'n says it's sunnier there,” he says. “And Marines stay away. I'd like to see it.”

_If ever you get dragged into a conversation, it's best if they think they're smarter than you are. People love showing off how much they know. Be dumb enough to make them feel superior, but smart enough to keep from being a nuisance._

She smirks at him. “You're gonna eat those words, kid. Or didn't you hear the news? The Donquixote Pirates just took it over yesterday.”

Law hides his growing dread behind confused curiosity. “What's so special about that?” he asks. “They're pretty strong, I bet they take over loads of places.”

The stocky woman aims a lazy kick at him, which Law dodges. “Pups like you shouldn't yelp unless they're smacked,” she says dismissively. “'S only special 'cause ol' Mad-Eyes on Sampetra was the last hold-out in this sea. From what I hear, everywhere else is either crawling with Marines or under Doflamingo's thumb.”

“He keeps going like this, the government's gonna lob a Warlord offer at him before he even _sniffs_ the Grand Line,” the man remarks.

The woman with the newspaper barks out a laugh. “Who needs to conquer that bullshit ocean over some fairy story about treasure? Just set up in one of the Blues and conquer everything there, and you're set for life. You ask me, Doflamingo's got the right idea staying put and milking this sea for all it's worth. Just sucks for the rest of us.”

That's not quite true, Law wants to say. Doflamingo has no intentions of staying in North Blue, and he would never be content with being king of one slice of the world. Once he has what he wants out of this sea, he'll be raining hell down on the Grand Line as soon as possible.

“He's gonna get old and rich staying right here,” the stocky woman groans. “While the rest of us scrounge for whatever scraps he turns up his nose at.”

Not true. Not true at all. Law longs to tell them so, but he keeps his mouth shut.

_One of the hardest things is keeping quiet. You'll hear people get things wrong or say things you don't agree with, and you'll want to correct them, but nine times out of ten you can't do that without showing you've met people or learned things you have no business knowing. Just hold your tongue, Law, be a good listener and no one will look at you twice._

The three of them brush him off like a bothersome fly, and Law backs off. Eventually the woman crumples the paper and tosses it over her shoulder as she leaves, and Law is quick to retrieve it. With his prize in hand, he hurries back to the docks.

“Bad news,” he says when Cora looks up, eyes bleary and tired. Once this conversation is over, Law decides, Cora is going to sleep whether he likes it or not. “Sampetra's no good.” He unfolds the newspaper and smooths it out over the charts Cora has been looking at. The article's not hard to find – sure enough, a headline announces Doflamingo's defeat of the pirate Mad-Eyes Ublaz, and the Donquixote family's subsequent takeover of his island domain.

“ _Damn_ ,” Cora rasps. “We're out of options. We need to leave this sea as soon as we can.”

“We _need_ to find somewhere safe to hole up so you can get better,” Law tells him flatly. “If we're gonna leave, that means either going to the Grand Line or finding some way over the Red Line to East Blue, and we can't do either of those things with you coughing up a lung and running a fever.” He meets Cora's eyes. “We can't stay here, or people will start to notice us and remember us. Isn't there anywhere we might be safe?”

Cora scowls over the article, then over the chart, brows knitted together. “I'm not...” His mouth tightens, cheekbones shifting as he grinds his teeth. “We can't just... but there's... _damn it all._ ” Cora's hands shake as he traces and retraces routes through the sea.

“Heard something else,” Law adds, quietly to keep from disturbing him. “Something about a – a gore leech? And someone called Daskar.”

The corner of Cora's mouth twitches. “Ah, him. I've heard of him. He's a pirate out of this sea. I wouldn't worry about him – Marine reports say he doesn't get up to much, so he's a low priority. Last I heard, his bounty's eight million.”

“Oh, good.” Law sighs a little with relief. “Um, speaking of Marines... I think Marines are better than Doflamingo. They won't know me, and we're safe as long as we're not flying a pirate flag.”

“Yes... and I wasn't well known...” Cora murmurs. “Still a risk. Vergo – what if Doffy has more spies in the Marines?”

“If we want to be completely safe, then we'd have to go somewhere _he_ won't,” Law points out. “Someplace he hates so much he won't touch it with a ten-mile pole.” Does a place like that even exist? Doflamingo has his strings everywhere and anywhere he can.

Cora's hand stills over the map. He grinds his teeth some more, and says, “I know a place.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roci's spy tips are inspired by and/or borrowed from _Ocean's Eleven_ and Tamora Pierce's _Trickster's Choice_.
> 
> Please excuse the rather on-the-nose Redwall reference.


	2. Chapter 2

It's not an island that Law recognizes. He certainly can't remember Doflamingo ever mentioning it, which lends some credence to Cora's idea.

They reach it just in time – the island is within sight when Cora's fever takes a turn for the worse, and Law scrambles to get him as comfortable as he can and steer their boat safely into its small harbor. He goes out briefly to talk to the crotchety oldster in charge of the docks. The man asks for five hundred beri and a name in exchange for mooring their boat; Law doubles the price and the man stops asking for a name.

He entertains thoughts of helping Cora to the nearest inn until he goes back and finds Cora in the midst of a fever dream. It's a bad one, and no amount of cooling wet cloths and fussing can calm him. Cora's in no condition to leave this bed, much less go wandering around outside to find a new one. It's cold out, and chilly winds are the last thing Cora's immune system needs right now.

When Cora goes still enough, Law bends to listen at his chest, and scowls when he hears the breath crackling in Cora's lungs. Drawing his knife, he casts a Room and sets about removing the fluid. The familiar movements bring to mind snow and blood and deep, dark bruises, but he blinks the memories away and focuses on the task at hand. Cora doesn't seem to feel a thing; he twitches and whimpers in his sleep, but nothing more. It's a step up from the tossing and turning and cries of distress from before.

He says things as well, words and phrases and even complete sentences, though they're garbled and half-coherent.

“My hair looks funny,” he says at one point, without waking up. Law glances at it. It's tangled and stringy from not enough washing, hanging over his face in uneven chunks. “Funny” isn't the word Law would use for it.

He says more things. He complains about being tired. He asks Law if he's hungry yet, though Law gets the distinct feeling that Cora doesn't realize it's Law he's talking to. He mentions that man Sengoku again by name. Law stays on alert, but he isn't worried. Cora's breathing okay, and judging by the innocuous subjects of his sleep-talking, his fever dreams have calmed down.

Hours later he goes quiet, or at least Law thinks he does. The intermittent babble halts, and Law relaxes, thinking the dreams have passed and Cora's getting some proper rest now.

The crying starts then.

He ought to have expected it. He remembers Lami getting sick ( _pox, flu, and amber lead_ ) and he remembers, vaguely, his own sickest days before the Ope-Ope fruit. Illness is an ugly, pitiful, undignified thing that doesn't discriminate between rich and poor, great and small, cruel and kind. It takes who it will, and it cares nothing for tears or indignity.

Cora sobs quietly, and Law swallows his unease and carefully sits down as close to Cora as he can.

“I'm sorry,” Cora whispers. “I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Law murmurs back. Cora's fingers curl in the thin blanket, grasping at something that isn't there, and Law reaches out and lets Cora take hold of his hand. He's not sure what else to do – his power can fix bones and cut without hurting and clear phlegm from the lungs, but if there's a way to stop dreams with it, or bring Cora's fever down, he doesn't know how yet.

“I want to go home,” Cora sighs. “Don't tell Father.”

“I-I won't.” Law's throat seizes, and he swallows against the sudden threat of tears. Cora's already crying; adding more tears won't help anything. “It's okay, Cora. It'll pass. You'll be okay, I promise-”

“I want to go _home_ ,” Cora says brokenly. “They won't let us sleep. Mother's gone – what if Father-”

Law blinks stinging eyes. “We'll find a new home,” he whispers back, clutching at Cora's clammy hand.

“They don't want us back. Why don't they want us back? We didn't – we didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then they're not worth it,” Law says. He has no idea what Cora's talking about, and something tells him he doesn't want to know; Law barely knows what _he's_ saying. The stinging in his eyes brings tears whether he likes it or not. “Screw them. We're fine. We don't need them.”

Cora goes quiet again. Law doesn't let go of his hand. He's sort of afraid of what will happen if he does. So he sits, and listens to the creaking of the boat and the lapping of water against the hull.

“Don't leave me,” Cora says suddenly.

“I won't,” Law replies. His throat is tight. “I won't, ever, I promise.”

“ _Please_.” Cora's voice, already scraped raw from coughing, rasps out in a sob. “Please don't go. I don't want-”

“I won't, Cora.” Law's vision blurs wetly.

But Cora, wherever he is, is beyond hearing him. He curls in on himself, still clutching Law's hand, crying brokenly in his fevered nightmares. “Come back. _Please_ , Doffy. Please don't leave me.”

Law's teeth grind until his jaw creaks, and his tears spill over silently in the dim light.

Cora drifts into wakefulness again, hours later, shivering in his sweat-drenched clothes. He's barely conscious, but barely is still conscious enough for Law to help him change into a cleaner, dryer shirt. As Law peels off the old one, his eyes fall upon Cora's bare skin. It's crisscrossed with pale scars – not from their escape from Minion Island, though. They're years old, by the looks of them. Law's not sure most of them are even from Cora's time with the Donquixote family. He never noticed them back on Minion Island, half-dazed by his own fever and worsening illness, too focused on fresh injuries to notice the marks left by old ones. Some of the marks on his chest look suspiciously like burns, and the most vivid scars encircle his wrists, as if he was bound in barbed wire at some point.

“What happened to you?” he asks in a hushed voice. He doesn't expect an answer, and doesn't get one.

Once he has Cora settled again and bundled in as many blankets as he can find, Law checks their supplies again. Their medicine is still well-stocked after the stop at the last island, but they're low on fresh water. Law's been using so much for medicine and washing, or simply bullying Cora to drink; he's been careening between shaking with chills and sweating himself dry, and keeping him hydrated through it is more of a monumental task than Law had expected.

In any case he'll need to get more, and that means leaving the ship, which means leaving Cora. The thought of it leaves a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. But it has to be done; he can't simply sit around holding Cora's hand while they run out of food and water within walking distance of a village.

Cora's dreams seem to have quieted, in any case. And they've been in unfamiliar territory for hours now – Law would be remiss if he didn't have a look around, do a little scouting, see if this place really was as safe as Cora said it would be.

After coaxing one more drink of water into him, Law ventures outside once more. He hasn't worn his hat out in a while – too distinctive – and the breeze stirs at his hair. The docks here are nothing like the previous ones; there's no bustle, no constant buzz of conversation among sailors and workers. Here, the wharf is nearly empty, so he feels a bit safer rolling out an empty water barrel.

He takes a risk when his feet are on solid ground, asking directions from one of the more distracted-looking passersby heading for the wharf. They pause two seconds to point him in the direction of the nearest water source, and Law trundles his barrel to a battered old well at the edge of a quiet, tiny village. Children play in the dirt, watched by a woman sitting nearby mending socks, and they pay him no mind. Law glances this way and that, but not even the hairs on the back of his neck are telling him he's being watched.

As he fills the barrel, he keeps his ears open and takes in his surroundings. The village is little more than a handful of small houses centered around the well and what looks like an attempt at a general store. All in all, it looks _too_ small for the area it's in; the place is barren and flat, and with the edge of the island's forests at a distance, there's plenty of room for a larger town. Oddly enough, Law can see spots here and there, piles of wood or stone that suggest there used to be more. It may warrant more investigating, once's he's done with this.

The barrel is heavier on the way back, but he manages. It's a bit more of a puzzle to get it back on the boat, but after some straining, close calls, and muffled cursing, he heaves the thing on board and rolls it below deck.

Cora is awake and humming quietly to himself when Law goes in to see him. The tune sounds familiar; Law's heard him hum it to himself before. He remembers, distantly, hearing it as he drifted in and out of unconsciousness after Minion Island. “All right?” Cora asks, muffled and groggy as Law passes.

“Fine,” Law assures him. “Got more water. How do you feel?”

“Throat hurts,” Cora says. “Where are we?”

“We're at the island,” Law tells him, fetching some soothing syrup from the medicine chest. “It's pretty empty here, not a lot of people. I think you're right – we should be safe here 'til you're better.”

“Mm.” Cora curls up under the blankets, and Law has to coax him out again to take the dose. “You going out again?”

“Think so. Maybe tomorrow, if you're better then. I want to have a better look around-” Law's cut off when Cora frees one of his arms from the tangle of blankets and grabs his wrist. The sudden movement makes Cora's sleeve slip back. “Cora?”

“Be _careful_.” Cora's eyes bore into him, still too bright with fever. “Be careful.”

“I-I always am.” Law stutters a little, caught off guard by Cora's sudden intensity. “Why? Is there something here? You didn't say...”

“Doffy – Doffy won't come,” Cora says, releasing him and sinking into his pillow again. “He won't come back, ever. But be careful. If anyone – if anyone asks, don't... don't mention my name. _Don't_.”

His sleeve is still pulled back, showing those vivid scars on his wrist again. “Cora,” Law whispers. “What is this place? What happened here?”

But Cora's already asleep again. Law stands still, watching him as if Cora will answer if he simply waits long enough. He's been nervous ever since they spotted the island; hell, he's been nervous ever since Cora got sick. But now the tight knot in his stomach feels a little closer to fear, and it keeps him from leaving the boat again.

It's not until the day after that curiosity finally wins out. Law checks Cora's temperature one last time, leaves a few cups of water and the Den Den Mushi within his reach, and ventures out to the village again.

Without the task of water-gathering, Law can pay closer attention to the scenery, and he's sure of it now. Amid the scattered little homes and hovels, there are signs of old architecture. Much of the ground is paved, or it was at one time, and the cobblestones are now broken, buried, and overgrown. Rectangles of broken masonry show where other, larger houses used to stand. The children are using what looks like the skeletal remains of a tavern as a jungle gym, and if the foundation remnants are any indication, it used to be a big one.

This village is built upon ruins. From the looks of it, the old well is the only relic of the original town still in one piece.

( _He thinks of ruins, of fallen statues and fountains, of burned-out frames that had once been magnificent pearl-white buildings but now sag under their own weight, charcoal-gray and black. A great and beautiful city, now ash and dust and rubble._ )

Law follows the broken remains of what once was a road. The fragments take him on a meandering path through the village, but as far as he can tell, he disturbs no one. He is still small and thin from the years in which the amber lead ravaged and stunted him (no need to grow much when you won't live past thirteen) and his size makes him nearly indistinguishable from the children at play. No one's likely to mistake him for a local, but nor will anyone look at him and see a threat.

It leads away from the village, and off into the trees. Law follows the broken old road, wondering what lies at the end. If he tries to find it, how long will he be away from Cora?

“You shouldn't go that way.”

Law tries not to jump. It's a child's voice, but it still means he's been noticed.

Cora's advice guides him along. _Children are either your best friend or your worst enemy. They're easy to appease, but they talk_. _They talk about anything and everything to anyone who will listen, and younger kids can't separate what they should and shouldn't talk about. That means you can get a lot of good information, but if you mess up or look suspicious, it'll spread like wildfire._

There's nothing for it; if he runs now it'll definitely look bad. He turns to find a skinny girl with a healthy dusting of dirt on her face and hands, watching him. She looks no older than eight, and she has more hair escaping her braid than in it.

“Why not?” he says, judging it to be a safe answer.

“It's a bad place,” the girl tells him solemnly.

“What's so bad about it?”

“It's just a bad place,” she says matter-of-factly, scratching the side of her nose. “That's what Gramps says. He won't say anything else, though. Just if I go up there he'll tan my hide, that's all he says. He says I'm a nice little girl and nice people got no business up where monsters used to live.”

Law blinks, and his curiosity is instantly piqued. “Monsters?”

“'S what Gramps said. I dunno any more. You want to ask him, he's at the docks making sure nobody sets 'em ablaze.”

Law ponders the old road. “Mm.”

When he glances back at the girl, she's looking at him shrewdly. “You're gonna go anyway? Tell me if there's monsters.”

An idea pops into his head, and Law nods. “Sure. You have to keep quiet about it, though. If I get caught, I can't tell you anything.”

She smirks, then spits on her hand and holds it out. “Deal.”

Reluctantly, Law returns the gesture. The girl scampers off, and Law grimaces and wipes his hand on his pant leg before turning to follow the broken old road.

* * *

The path takes him past more scattered ruins and fragments of buildings overgrown with vegetation, before he finds himself in green woods. He pauses, wondering if he should turn back to check on Cora, but he remembers the baby snail tucked in his coat pocket. Cora has a way of contacting him if he needs something, and besides – it's worth checking out if it means making absolutely sure this island is safe.

The thought drives him onward, skirting thick vegetation and climbing over uneven ground and fallen trees. He stumbles over roots and holes, clothes catching on branches. If the wrecked mess of the road wasn't enough indication, then this is. The forest has grown over the old road and reclaimed the land. No one's used this path in years.

Monsters. The girl mentioned monsters. That alone wasn't worth spooking over; after all, Law himself has been a monster until recently. What do people know about monsters, anyway?

Time, as it turns out, isn't worth worrying over too much. The trees open up before long, and Law finds himself staring out at the sea again. He's followed the coast fairly closely, and it's brought him to a green shoreline out of view from the island's lonely harbor.

What's more, the sea isn't all that he finds.

The road vanishes not far out from where the forest breaks and Law stands. Either the grass and underbrush have swallowed it up, or it never reached this far in the first place. But beyond that, nestled beside the sea, is a ruin.

Father was a successful doctor, and Law has no memory of his family wanting for money. But even his childhood home, big and spacious and lovely, was still smaller than what this one must have been. It's a mansion – or, at least, it was at one point. Now, it sits rotting near the shoreline, a burnt-out blackened husk.

Law hurries onward.

He skirts the frame of the ruin until he's approaching what he thinks is the front – or was the front, at some point. It's hard to tell when at least half of it is gone. The lower two stories are still in one piece, for the most part, but Law can tell it would have gone even higher back when it was still whole. He ventures closer and sees that it's been tagged in a few places, with old graffitti that no one ever bothered to clean. Many of the words are still legible.

_MONSTER_

_TYRANTS BURN_

_KEEP OUT_

_NO EVIL HERE_

Law shudders, stepping carefully over the rubble to the front door. The door itself is gone, the hinges empty, and the empty doorway yawns before him. Reaching back, Law pulls the knife from its sheath hidden at his back, and ventures inside.

Daylight streams in through openings – holes burned and broken in the ceiling, or the empty frames that once were windows. Law stands in a blackened mess of a room, and the old, charred wood crumbles beneath his feet. He keeps an ear out for suspicious noises – even if there aren't monsters in this place like the girl said, he'd rather not get crushed by falling debris. This place may still be partially standing, but that doesn't make it safe.

Not even this mansion is safe from nature – moss and ivy vines have grown in through the empty windows, and a bird's nest sits at the top of a doorframe. It's almost as overgrown as the road that led to it. Law picks his way through the ruin, coughing a little on the musty air. With most of the walls burned away or fallen in, he can't tell where one room ends and another begins.

A staircase leads up to the second floor. Most of the banister is gone, and there's a wide gap in the stairs where they've fallen in past the eighth step. Law leaves them alone – the second floor can remain a mystery, and his neck can stay unbroken.

Here and there he finds little objects. Old diningware. A broken, half-melted vase. Remnants of fine ornamentation, either burned beyond recognition or ripped out of the surrounding wood. Here, there's an overturned jewelry box with no jewelry in sight. A mahogany chest sits partially intact by the remains of a wall, and with some difficulty he manages to get it open, to find it empty. This place has been looted.

A doorframe stands on its own, the wall around it simply gone. Law steps under it, and the board beneath his foot gives way. He loses his footing with a cry, throwing his hand out instinctively to catch himself on the dusty remnants of an end table. It's a mistake – his palm lands in broken glass, and he yelps again and staggers back. He loses the battle for balance and ends up sitting in the rubble, hissing with pain over a cut in his palm.

Gritting his teeth, Law checks the cut for shards before wrapping it firmly. Carefully he picks himself up again and steps cautiously over to the table. The glass shards, some of them now smeared in his blood, seem to have come from an overturned picture frame lying on the table. Gingerly Law nudges the shards away and picks up the frame and turns it over in his hands.

His breath catches in his throat.

The picture is faded and yellow with age, the edges charred black, but by some miracle it's survived fire and ruin and years of neglect. A family smiles up at him from the photograph – a man with flowing blonde hair and a bushy mustache has his arm around a pretty, gently smiling woman, and together they hold their children close, all of them beaming at the camera.

The child standing in front of his mother, chin held proudly high, looks like nothing but a younger, much smaller Donquixote Doflamingo. There's something in the way he grins from behind dark glasses, his smile showing all his teeth, that makes Law certains it can't be anyone else.

And that means that the child next to him, clutching his father's hand and smiling shyly past the blonde curls falling into his eyes-

Law's hand shakes as he brushes the picture with his fingertips, half afraid it will crumble if he's too rough with it. “ _Cora._ ”

* * *

The little girl meets him when he stumbles back to the village. “Any monsters?” she asks.

It takes a moment for Law to register her question. He blinks at her, focusing on her, trying to gather his thoughts into a good answer. “Think so,” he says. “I found some burnt-out old ruins, so maybe monsters live there.” The words taste sour on his tongue.

The girl's eyes widen. “Dragons? I bet it was dragons. Did any dragons show up?” She glances down at his hands. “Did you have to fight 'em?”

Law follows her gaze, and remembers that one hand is bandaged, and the other is still clutching his knife. “N-no. The footprints looked pretty big, and there were an awful lot of old bones, and the ruins were as big as a mansion, so I didn't stick around.”

She looks disappointed and intrigued at the same time. “A whole mansion?”

“No, only the half of it that was left.”

The girl beams. “That is _so cool_.”

“Keep quiet about it,” he warns her. “If your grandpa finds out you got someone to snoop for you, you'll get in trouble.”

“I know _that,_ ” the girl scoffs. “Thanks for snooping. Maybe when I'm bigger I'll go down there and look for my own self.” She scampers off before Law can reply, and returns to playing in the ruins within the village.

Cora is still sleeping when Law gets back. His fever burns, but he's breathing all right and the dreams have settled down. A few of the water cups are empty.

It's a risk, what Law does next. It's such a risk, and he shouldn't do it, but he does it anyway. After lingering to make absolutely sure that Cora will be all right, he creeps out to the dock again and finds the old watchman dozing at his post.

“Excuse me.”

The old man blinks awake and looks at him, vaguely bored. “What.”

“Just wondering,” Law says, brain working to form a properly roundabout way of asking. “Does anyone important live here?” At the man's raised eyebrow, he clarifies. “I saw an old mansion, when we were sailing around the island looking for the harbor.”

“What about it,” the old man says gruffly.

“Do you know whose house it is?” Law asks, arranging his face into a look of proper wide-eyed curiosity.

“Why do you want to know?” the old man snaps. “What's a scrawny kid like you doing around here anyway?”

“Passing through,” Law replies. “Me and my uncle, we lost our house, and most of our stuff too. We're trying to find a new place to live so we're just drifting. We want to be somewhere there's no one important and no one from the World Government.”

The man's eyebrow rises again. “That so?”

Law scowls. “'Cause they're the ones that took all our stuff in the first place, when Uncle couldn't pay all his debts.” _If you have to make up a story, then don't go halfway and call it a day. Make it a whole one, so you can give details if people ask you for them. That's what separates a good lie from a spotty mess._

The old man barks a laugh. “This island's a non-member, kid. No World Government here.” He grimaces. “But stay away from that rotting trash heap of a house. That damned place ain't worth spittin' on, so keep your distance.”

“Did something bad happen there?” Law asks.

For a few moments, the man is silent, staring off into the middle distance. His eyes narrow, and his mouth twists into a look of hatred and contempt, like his worst enemy is standing before his eyes. Law's throat is dry, but he forces himself not to gulp or fidget.

Finally, the old man huffs out a sigh. “Ever seen a Celestial Dragon before, kid?”

Law almost starts. He's not sure what he was expecting, but it's certainly not a question like that. “Y-you mean a World Noble?” he says. “No, never. They all live in Mariejois.”

The man's face becomes a grimace. “Not all of them.”

“I don't understand.”

“They're scum,” the old man spits. “Scum and trash and... and _monsters._ ”

Law twitches. It's almost a flinch, but not quite. He moves his hands behind his back so the old man won't see the way they curl and uncurl. “M-monsters?” he manages to say. Of course, he's heard stories about their cruelty. Everyone has. Everyone knows the rules – you don't get in their way, you don't talk back, you don't talk to them at all, you may as well be mud to them, and if they kill you then it's your fault and no one's going to stop them. But the word “monster” pricks at him like white-hot needles.

“You're a kid. You don't know the things they've done.” The man shakes his head. “They shoot people in the streets. They kidnap women for fun. They keep _slaves_ – my neighbor's little girl was taken when she was young. She came back years later. Offed herself three days after making it home.” His teeth grind until they creak. “They think they're gods when all they are is _beasts_.”

“And the house?” Law manages to say.

“Musta been twenty years back,” the old man growls. “Family of 'em moved right in. We were a nice town, back then. Prosperous. World Government left well enough _alone_. Then those – those powdered, perfumed animals set up in that mansion by the sea. Waltzed down to the town like they owned the damn place, flauntin' their damned name, shoutin' what they were from the rooftops.” His face twists with disgust. “I remember one of their little snotnosed brats bawling in the streets, whining at everyone to bow to him.”

“Th-then what happened?” There's a strange feeling in Law's chest, a trembling tightness that makes it hard to breathe and harder to speak.

“Dumb bastards made one mistake,” The old man snorts. “They left all their perks when they came down from on high to play human. No more titles, no more admirals swattin' flies off their bums, no more nothin' behind their fancy names.” He spits casually on the ground. “So we marched down to that rat's nest and set it ablaze. They ran off like the slime they were.”

The tightness in his chest clenches again, twisting painfully until he's biting his lip to keep it contained. “You, uh,” he manages to say. “You said they had kids?”

“Kids grow,” the old man says coldly. “Better to nip 'em in the bud. By the time we caught up to 'em the bitch was gone – she either ran off or died.”

Law remembers the gently smiling woman with her hands on her sons' shoulders, and he suppresses a shudder. “And the others?”

“Heh.” A grim, satisfied smile flickers across the old man's face. “We still had one dog and his whelps. So we strung 'em up by their wrists over their own burning house, let 'em have a taste of their own sport.”

Law looks at this old man and does not see him. He only sees the scars on Cora's wrists, the faded burns on his chest. He hears tears and fear and

_They won't let us sleep. Mother's gone, what if Father-_

_I've been hiding for a long time._

Cora said this was the one place where Doflamingo would never come looking for them.

“Don't waste any tears on them, kid,” the old man goes on. “There's only one cure for monsters. The only good Celestial Dragon is a dead one. If we'd been faster we'd have done those three properly, then maybe we'd be living in a city of houses again, 'stead of a pile of run-down shacks.”

And in that moment, Law understands a part of Cora that he never did before. Not his kindness, nor his forgiveness, nor his perpetual smiling – if anything, Law understands those parts even less. But Law remembers Cora's face when doctors and nurses turned from Law in disgust, when they recoiled and wailed about disease and white monsters. He remembers hospitals that burned after their doctors called for his death, and he understands why.

Because more than anything in the world, more than freedom or peace or happiness, Law wants this old man to drop dead where he stands. He wants to dig his fingers into this smug bastard's face and claw out his eyes, to burn his damned dock to charcoal and ash. Law wants to _hurt_ him.

But he doesn't.

Law gathers himself up, lets his nails bite into his palms behind his back, and politely thanks the man for the story. His anger feels like pressure behind his eyes as he turns away and walks back to the boat. He goes below deck to check on Cora, and the twisting snarl of fear and disgust and white-hot rage loosens when he steps in, and Cora's soft, gentle humming reaches his ears.

With a little luck, he'll get better soon.

_Good_ , Law thinks, as Cora's voice fades away with sleep. _Good._ Because that means they can leave soon, and they can turn their boat away from this hateful shore and never look back.

* * *

The following day, Cora's fever finally breaks. By the day after, he's awake and alert for most of it. And the morning after that, he's up and about before Law is. He's still pale and tired, but his temperature is in a much healthier range, and Law can't hear any more chest congestion. They share a small breakfast together.

“How's our supplies?” Cora asks.

“Went and bought some things,” Law says. “Refilled all the water barrels. If you notice anything I missed, I can maybe find it at the store here.”

“Thanks. I think it's...” Cora pauses for a moment, and Law looks over to see him blinking, a lot. “I think it's better if I just... stay in the boat, while we're here.”

There's a lump in Law's throat now. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “It's probably safer.”

There must be something in the way he says that, because Cora looks at him, and Law looks back, and for a moment they don't even need words to understand each other.

But Law hates how terribly vulnerable Cora looks, so he uses them anyway. “I went exploring,” he says. “And... I heard a story.”

“Oh,” Cora says, and nothing else besides.

They restock the ship as best they can. Or rather, Law goes out and buys the things they need, and brings them back so Cora can organize them. With Cora exhausted from his sickness and Law tired from caring for him, it takes all morning and afternoon. The sun is beginning to sink from its zenith when they finish, and Law returns to the ship with one last crate of supplies to find Cora sitting on deck and staring out at the island. Law doesn't say anything, but puts the crate away and goes to sit with him.

“Is it-” Cora starts, then stops. “It's close, isn't it.” Law doesn't answer immediately, and Cora continues haltingly. “I... I remember it was – it was by the sea. The view was nice.” He glances at Law, and there's a hesitance there that Law can't remember seeing before. “Do you remember which way it was?”

Law points.

“Ah.” Cora nods, looking down the shoreline in the direction Law indicated. His hands wring in his lap. “We could probably sail there. To that stretch of coastline.” His throat bobs. “I think... I'd like to see it. Would that be all right with you?” He glances at Law, stone-faced.

“Of course,” Law says.

That's the last time they look at that dock, ever. Law turns his head away from the old watchman's post, and resists the urge to spit in his direction.

Cora's right; the mansion must have had a lovely view of the sea, back when it was still standing.

They moor the boat within view of the blackened ruin, and Cora clambers to shore. Law follows him, mindful of Cora's unsteady footing. They halt some distance away, and Cora looks upon the ruin in silence. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, doesn't do anything except look and breathe.

Law stands a pace behind him, waiting. In his mind he wrestles with pity and anger and wretched, gnawing sympathy. Cora chose this place, he brought them here because he knew Doflamingo would never come near it, because for all his brother's ruthlessness and cruelty, this one tiny out-of-the-way island would cause Doflamingo pain. And Cora brought them here knowing it would cause him pain, too.

(Could they have hid just as safely in the ruins of Flevance? Doflamingo never would have thought to look for them there-)

He steps forward and looks at Cora's face, and has to turn his head away. Law has seen that look before. It's frozen, blank, empty of feeling, not because he feels nothing but because he feels _so much_ that it all clogs in his head and nothing gets through to the outside. It's not something Law has seen on Cora's face, but on his own in the mirror. It's so familiar that it hurts. Law grinds his teeth and curls his hands into fists, wishing that Cora would talk, would cry, would shout or scream or break things, _anything_ but this cold, empty blankness.

“I had a sister,” he says softly, because the silence is suffocating him and it's the first thing out of his mouth. “Lami. She was younger than me. She liked festivals, which was great for her because F-Flevance – um, Flevance had a lot of them. I studied a lot, and she always made me stop and go out to see them with her.”

He keeps talking. He doesn't tell Cora about Lami's white spots. He doesn't tell Cora how he left Lami hiding in a closet while he ran to look for help, and came back to find the hospital burning with her inside. He doesn't tell Cora about finding his parents's bodies, or Sister and all his classmates lying dead in the streets. He talks about how Lami lisped until she was six, how his father dog-eared the pages in his medical textbooks, how his mother made lemonade on hot days. He talks about festivals and ice cream in the White City, and Lami's pigtails, and following his father as he did his rounds in the hospital.

When his throat is dry and he's finally run out of small things to say, he stops. He's not sure if he's helping or hurting, not sure he's doing anything at all until he looks up and sees tears on Cora's face. That's... a good thing, right? Tears are better than blankness.

And then Cora blinks, takes a deep breath, and tells a story.

It's a story Law's heard, but it's different now. The old man's story was about fear and hatred and vengeance, but Cora talks of nothing but love, and family, and kindness. He tells Law of a small boy in a too-large world, with a humble father and a kind mother and a proud older brother, and of the misfortune that befell them all. He talks until Law stops wanting to hurt the people that hurt Cora, and only wants to reach back in time to the tiny, frightened Donquixote Rocinante and tell him that it would get better, that everything would be all right in the end.

But he can't do that, so instead he reaches into his pocket and gingerly draws out the yellowed, singed picture, rescued from the wreckage. Cora's hands shake as Law holds it out and he takes it. His fingertips brush over the faded, smiling faces, and he sinks to the ground as if he can't hold up the weight of his own story anymore.

“I'd almost-” Cora's voice cracks. “I'd almost forgotten their _faces_.” Law sits down in the grass beside him. “Over the years, I – I tried to remember, I tried to bring them back in my head, but... every time I tried to think of my father, I would see Sengoku's face.” He goes quiet, staring at the picture for a while. “You said... you heard this story? In the town?”

Law swallows past the lump in his throat. He doesn't want to think of the sneer on the old man's face, ever again. “I like how you tell it better,” he says quietly.

Cora wipes his eyes with a sigh. “They haven't forgotten, then. They still remember us.”

Law doesn't reply.

“I wouldn't be surprised if they even still remember our name,” Cora says softly. “I wonder if that means they know that... that Doffy...” He stops, clenching his teeth and turning his head away from Law. “ _Damn it_. It's not _fair_.” His voice breaks again. “Eight hundred years, Law. It took us – my _family_ – it took us _eight hundred years_ to realize we were wrong. To try and, and turn our name into something worthwhile.” Cora lets go of the picture with one hand and curls it into a fist in the grass. “And now – and now more than anything I want to keep trying. I want to honor my father and my mother and what they tried to do. But I _can't_.” Cora's teeth clench, and the tears in his eyes overflow. “Because if I'm not recognized as one of the most hated people in this world, then I'll be recognized as Doffy's brother and-” He breaks off, breath hissing between his clenched teeth. “He's poisoned it all over again. And now – now it's too dangerous to be Donquixote anymore.”

A tangle of emotions has been rising in Law with each word Cora speaks, and he can scarcely contain it any longer. “How does-” Law blurts, and the first two words are out before he realizes what he's about to say, how it might sound, how stupid and arrogant and insensitive it might be. But Cora's sitting beside him, lost and alone and now nameless, and he's given _so much_ to Law already-

He almost can't say it, but he can't _not_ say it. He can't _not_ give back.

“Then-” His voice trembles, and it comes out softer than he means it to. “-how does Trafalgar sound to you?”

Beside him, Cora goes still.

His nervousness jumps into high gear, driving him to fill the silence. “I-I-I mean, you don't – it was just a thought, and – well, um, i-it's not like anyone else besides me is using it, so-”

“Do you mean that?” Cora asks. He's staring straight at Law again, and Law can't quite read the look on his face. “Even after everything you've found out about me?”

“I don't _care,_ ” Law says. “I don't care that – that you're a Marine or a Celestial Dragon or Doflamingo's brother or _anything_ , Cora. You're just – you're just _you_ and that's enough, you don't have anything to prove and I don't have anyone, Cora, I just have _you_ -” Cora yanks him into a hug that's almost painful how tight it is, but Law hugs back and curses his too-short arms.

“It would be an _honor_ , Law.”


	3. Chapter 3

“We're really doing this.”

This is the last island they're going to see in North Blue. Reverse Mountain is close – not close enough to see, especially when it's hidden by storm clouds, but still within reach. The island where they dock their boat lies the closest to the entrance to the Grand Line, and it's one last supply stop before they plunge right in. Law leans against the railing, wide-eyed and alert as he takes in the bustling harbor.

“Hard to sail the world without seeing the Grand Line,” Cora says. “Too much of a hassle going over the Red Line – I mean, we _just_ bought this boat.”

“So we're going right into the Pirate Graveyard instead?” Law asks dryly.

“Well, it's a good thing we're not pirates then, isn't it?” Cora retorts.

“Can we really do this?” Law asks.

“Technically we can do anything we want. I don't mean to sound childish, but... well, it's true.”

Law gives him a flat look. “I mean can we really do this without dying?”

“Have a little faith, Law.” Cora looks almost injured. “I was practically raised around Marineford. I've sailed the Grand Line before – I _learned_ to sail on the Grand Line. It's a tricky sea, but it's doable.” He places his hands on his hips. “Still, this is our last chance to resupply before we enter it, so we'd better make it count. We'll need a Log Pose, and it might be good to do a little clothes-shopping, too. Then there's food, water, and medicine on top of that, and-”

“We made lists for a reason,” Law reminds him, already disembarking. “C'mon, Cora, I know you like shopping.”

“Wait up, La- _aaw!_ ” Cora trips on his way off the boat and faceplants on the dock.

Scattered laughter reaches them as a red-faced Cora picks himself up, but the witnesses move on just as quickly. It's not a dangerous sort of attention they've drawn – just brief, mild amusement before the onlookers go about their business. It still makes the hairs on Law's neck stand on end, but he shrugs off the feeling with a roll of his eyes. “Can we go now?” Impatience leaks into his voice.

“Right with you, Law.” Cora flashes him a quick smile. “Clothes first, shall we? Might as well enter the Grand Line in style.”

Style is a bit subjective, since the shop they choose sells clothing secondhand. They're virtually fugitives now, which makes earning money legitimately a near impossibility, which in turn makes budgeting a necessity. Not that Law minds much – dressing to the nines just makes him think of the primped, polished atmosphere of the Donquixote pirates, dining on expensive food and wine around an elegantly set table. It's only with a slight clench of his teeth that Law blinks away the memory.

They split their clothing budget and go on separate searches. Law tries not to stray too far, and manages to keep Cora mostly within sight. He picks out shirts and pants in his size, a few with the spotted pattern that he likes. In one corner of the shop he strikes gold with a jacket that catches his fancy. It's big on him, so he'll be able to wear it even after he grows a little, and it's dark and warm with a thick lining of black feathers around the edge of the hood. Law runs his fingers over the soft lining and makes his way to the front to pay for everything.

He meets Cora outside, both of them in new clothes. Cora looks the very definition of drab; his chosen outfit is loose-fitting and plain, from the long coat that reaches just shy of his knees to a stocking cap that hangs loosely on his head. Rounding out the ensemble are a loose scarf around his neck and a pair of round sunglasses on his face.

“How do I look?” Cora asks.

Law looks him up and down, and says, “Homeless.”

The expression on Cora's face is almost long-suffering. “Law,” he says patiently. “I _am_ homeless.”

“Yeah, well, now you look it.”

“You insufferable little-” Cora stifles a laugh. “Nice coat.”

Law gives their list a once-over to hide his smile. “Thanks.”

They must make an odd pair – a lanky nine-foot tree of a man and a scrawny boy, already small for his age but especially tiny as he trots along, five steps to Cora's one. They're both dressed like vagrants, but the clothes are clean and new and comfortable, and this place is full of vagrants so they blend right in.

One by one, they work their way through each item on the list. Extra clothes, extra bedding. Tools, just in case the ship needs repairs. More clean bandages, more medicine (and the apothecary is a breeze to navigate, properly stocked and organized, not like the rummage-sale mess from before). A Log Pose, which Cora fastens to his wrist with a grin and a promise to teach Law how to navigate. It's a lot for two people to manage, trudging back and forth from the town to the docks when their purchases are too much to carry at once. But they do manage, though evening falls by the time they are satisfied.

Cora insists they spend money on a room for the night. “We're certainly not going to head out now,” he says. “It's a few hours of sailing to reach the entrance to the Grand Line, and you couldn't pay me to take on Reverse Mountain in the dead of night. It'll be dark enough with storm clouds. Better to have one last good night's sleep in a real bed, and sail out when we're fresh. You'll thank me later, Law.”

“Will the ship be all right while we're asleep?” Law asks.

“Some extra beri to the night watchman on the dock, and it will be.” Cora winks. “Come on. Let's find some food and get our heads down for the night. Big day tomorrow.”

* * *

Law wakes early, out of habit.

Doflamingo had no patience for dawdlers in the morning. Before that, Law slept in snatches and moved before dawn, before anyone else was awake to catch him. Rising early has been a necessity for years now, and Law sees no reason to stop now, seeing as how he's a fugitive from criminals and government agents alike.

Still half-asleep, Law moves automatically, levering himself up on the mattress until he's propped upright. Eyes closed, he slides his feet out from under the blankets and down to the floor, and nearly trips over something left propped up against the bed. The minor shock wakes him further, lifting some of the weight off his eyelids, and he yawns and rubs them open. He sees the object for what it is, blinks, and frowns in confusion.

“Hey Cora?” he calls over to the other bed. “When did we get this?”

Cora rouses with a quiet snuffling. “Hmwha?” Blinking groggily, Cora raises his head and manages to focus on Law, and the object of his confusion. “Oh. Uh. Well, _we_ didn't. I did, last night. Impulse buy. Won't happen too often, don't worry.” He pauses, yawns, and sits up. “Do you like it?”

It takes a moment for Law to register the question. “Do – do _I_ like it? I mean, it's for me?”

Cora grins and pushes his sleep-tousled hair out of his face. “Well it certainly isn't my size.”

After a moment of hesitation, Law picks it up. It's a sword – not a saber like the one Diamante uses, but a short-bladed katana. What's the name for them again? A wakizashi, that was it. It's definitely not Cora's size – it's _Law's_ size, lightweight and not so long that he risks tripping over it the way he sometimes did with the swords Diamante tossed to him for training. It's his size, and Cora bought it for him. “But–”

“I've seen you train and fight, remember,” Cora says, answering the unspoken question. “You're not half bad, and you're more comfortable with a blade in your hand than without one.”

Law shrugs, hiding his embarrassment over the praise. “Being sick made me weak. And small.” He remembers Father's notes on amber lead, how the poison makes muscles soft and bones brittle, and stunts growth in children. “You don't have to be all that big or strong just to cut someone.”

“Well, I'm hardly a master swordsman, but – well, I went through Marine training. I know perfectly well how to use one. And if we're heading into the Grand Line by ourselves, then you need to know how to defend yourself.” He tilts his head and offers Law a crooked smile. “Sound good to you?”

Law draws the blade. It's well-used and a little battered, and it could use a polish, but he likes the feel and weight of it in his hand. “Sounds good to me.”

They leave that very day, setting sail from the island and turning the bow of their ship toward the entrance to the Grand Line. It's a few hours away, but Law can already see ominous storm clouds in the distance, marking their destination. In spite of himself he can't help but feel excitement at the sight, building in his chest as the ship takes them closer and closer. Law stands on the deck, leaning against the railing as if he can push the ship to carry them faster.

Cora joins him there, watching the waves and the horizon and the looming storm clouds. They stand together in silence, at least until Cora hums. It's almost lost to the wind, but Law tilts his head and catches it. Something about the tune seems familiar, and Cora cycles through the notes a few times before Law finally remembers.

“What's that?” Law asks, when Cora pauses.

“Hm?” Cora's only half listening.

“That tune you keep humming,” Law says. “You were doing it when you were sick, and I think I remember you doing it when I was sick, too. After Minion Island, maybe even before that. My memory's a little fuzzy.”

“Oh.” Cora fidgets, fiddling with the scarf around his neck. “That. It's... something my mother use to sing to us when we were little. A lullaby, you know.” Law tries to imagine anyone singing a young Doflamingo to sleep. It's difficult. “It's... it's a little silly, but it makes me feel better.”

“Oh.” It's not silly at all, in Law's opinion. “How's it go?”

“What?” Cora glances at him, blinking in surprise.

“The song,” Law clarifies. “If it's a lullaby, there are words, right?”

“Oh, well, yes.” Cora frowns at the sea before them. “Let's see, how _did_ it go...?” He frowns thoughtfully, mouth twisting as he remembers. A few moments later he starts singing, hesitantly, to the familiar tune.

“ _Sleep my little baby-oh,_

_Sleep until you waken,_

_When you wake you'll see the world,_

_If I'm not mistaken..._ ”

Cora breaks off, humming again. “Ahh, it's not use, I've forgotten the rest. Something about... dancing, and treasure...”

“Huh.” Law cocks his head. “'When you wake you'll see the world'? That doesn't sound like something a Celestial Dragon would sing. Most of them stay in Mariejois, right?”

“Yes...” Cora muses. “I suppose you're right.”

Law regrets saying it when he sees Cora's face fall. “Well,” he says. “I guess it's a good thing you're not one anymore then, right?” He looks out to the sea and the storm, out to endless miles and possibilities. “Since we're gonna see the world now.”

Cora's hand lands lightly on Law's back, and he opens his mouth to say something, then closes it. He doesn't end up speaking at all, but that's all right. Anything else would just be extra, a repetition of things that Law already knows.

Together, they stand at the bow and watch as the waves carry them closer and closer to the rest of the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics belong to Neil Gaiman.
> 
> More to follow.


End file.
